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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504692">sweater weather</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/giggly__gay/pseuds/spritewrites'>spritewrites (giggly__gay)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brotherly Bonding, Fluff, No Incest, Platonic Relationships, Tickling, rated for language, this is a tickle fic, ticklish!five</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:22:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/giggly__gay/pseuds/spritewrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five's not really accustomed to clothes shopping, but he's pretty sure that, whatever this is? Yeah, not how it's supposed to go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Number Five | The Boy &amp; Klaus Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>162</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sweater weather</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What about this? Wait, hang on—”</p><p> </p><p>Something bright green and sparkly came sailing over the top of the changing room door, narrowly missing Five’s face and collapsing unceremoniously to the sticky floor. Five wrinkled his nose.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No</em>, Klaus.” God, he could <em>hear</em> his brother pouting. He poked at the green garment with his shoe. Dolores might have liked it, if she’d been here – definitely her color – but it looked like something that was supposed to go on your bottom half, so. Well.</p><p> </p><p>Outside, Klaus let out a huff. “You’re impossible.”</p><p> </p><p>Five was on the verge of <em>no, you’re impossible</em> (like a child, which Klaus always, <em>always</em> brought out in him), but he bit his lip. Deep breaths. In. Out.</p><p> </p><p>“Klaus, I asked for your help. This?” He tossed the green thing back over the door. “This is not helpful.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you’d look so cute! Like a little diva!”</p><p> </p><p>The pressure that he applied to his temples was probably close to pushing his brains out through his nose at this point. “I would rather nail my tongue to my forehead.”</p><p> </p><p>Klaus groaned. “FINE. Fine. I’ll find something.” Five heard his heels clicking out of earshot on the tile, murmuring something about “<em>Five-za Minelli</em>.” Whatever that meant.</p><p> </p><p>He collapsed back against the closed door with a sigh. Honestly, he didn’t know what he was expecting from “shopping with Klaus,” but it wasn’t quite this bad in his head. Maybe he should have brought another sibling along. Maybe Vanya. Probably Vanya. She’d know how to handle this. He made a mental note to strategize before accepting future sibling outings, no matter how “whack” or “busted” his wardrobe might be. Besides, Diego had no right to talk. Those turtlenecks were atrocious.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, HERE, what about this?” A maroon sleeve flung itself half over the door, and the rest toppled after it, right into Five’s waiting hands. He held it up, not daring to believe that Klaus could have done something right, but – huh. It was a sweater. High neck, tight knit, nice color. Professional-looking, like the suits he used to wear for the Commission. Okay. He could work with this.</p><p> </p><p>He shed his Academy blazer and sweater vest, keeping his shirt on (the collar might look nice under the sweater) and sticking his head in the warm knitwear. The yarn was soft against his cheeks, and yeah, all right, he had to admit it. It would be nice to wear something that wasn’t the starchy, scratchy Academy uniform. Besides, the sweater didn’t bring back memories he’d rather forget.</p><p> </p><p>He stuck his arms up, squeezing them into the sweater and getting them about halfway up the sleeves before he was stopped short. Huh. He tugged, once, firmly. Nothing. Another tug, harder, more of a yank really. The fabric made it about another inch before stopping again. The sweater was about halfway on, but he couldn’t seem to get it around his shoulders. Ah well, he’d ask Klaus to get it in another size up. He moved to take it off, but – stuck again. Five’s eyes widened in his maroon prison, pulling rather desperately at the yarn. Oh <em>fuck.</em></p><p> </p><p>“How’s that one?”</p><p> </p><p>Shit. Klaus. “Uh, fine.” More pulling.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I see?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Shit</em>. “In a second.” Pulling harder. Trying to shrink.</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, come on, old man, take the stick out of your ass. Lemme see!”</p><p> </p><p>“I… um…” Frantic yanking. <em>Oh God</em>. Five let out a huge breath, knowing that he was about to make the biggest mistake of his goddamn life. And he’d accidentally gotten time-stuck in a post-apocalyptic future. So, you know. That was saying something. “Klaus, I…”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m stuck.”</p><p> </p><p>The longest second of Five’s life. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m stuck.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I got that – what do you mean you’re stuck?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m stuck in the sweater.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just pull it off.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“You… hang on, I’m coming in.”</p><p> </p><p>Five managed to feel around enough to get the changing room door unlocked, but unfortunately missed the look on Klaus’ face when it swung open to reveal a thirteen-year-old-looking man halfway into a too-small sweater. Actually, maybe that was fortunate. At the very least, he had to be subjected to his brother’s bark of surprised laughter, which was… an unpleasant experience.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you even <em>do </em>this?” Klaus asked, half-managing to smother his laughter in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time, Five was glad for the sweater; at least it hid his crimson face. “Klaus, I swear—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, you’re <em>actually stuck</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“If you say anything—”</p><p> </p><p>“This is <em>amazing</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll kill you in your sleep—”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, okay,” Klaus giggled, “I’ll help, I promise.”</p><p> </p><p>He reached for the hem just as Five, blind as a bat, lost his balance a little. Nothing much, just a stumble. But Klaus missed the sweater, loosely reaching for Five’s shirt instead, catching his fingertips in the divots between his ribs, and Five felt his breath catch in his throat. He twisted, once, too quickly for it to be anything <em>but </em>panic, and felt his back thud against the wall. For a second, everything was quiet. Then –</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Uh oh.</em> That didn’t sound good.</p><p> </p><p>Five squirmed, trying to get the garment either far enough off or far enough on to see. Being trapped in a small space with his most unpredictable brother and <em>stuck in a sweater</em> was not an ideal combination.</p><p> </p><p>“Klaus, what – AH!” A cold finger prodded into his stomach, making him jerk and stumble again, only just managing to keep his balance. “What’re you—”</p><p> </p><p>“Ticklish, Fiver?” Klaus asked, chuckling as he landed another poke to his brother’s hipbone, just below where his shirt had ridden up. Five let out something like a squeak, shaking his head.</p><p> </p><p>“N-no, I don’t think…” He trailed off, tugging at his arms and squeezing his eyes shut as Klaus skittered blunt fingernails over his side. Ticklish? Five didn’t <em>think</em> so, he hadn’t been ticklish since he was a child. But then, he kind of <em>was </em>a child, wasn’t he? Puberty followed him into this body, why couldn’t this? But if that was true…</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>, Klaus!” he choked, scrunching his torso around another jab to his ribs. This one, though, lingered, digging into the bones, and <em>oh, fuck</em>. Worst case scenario.</p><p> </p><p>Five was, indeed, ticklish.</p><p> </p><p>High-pitched, childish giggles poured out of his mouth, and <em>shit, </em>it might even be worse than when he was a kid. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire, lit up with never-ending sensation, but there was something else there, too. It felt like there was something buzzing just under his skin, something bright and fizzy that was spurring the laughter on.</p><p> </p><p>He threw himself to the side, but Klaus’ evil tickling fingers followed him effortlessly, dancing over his ribs just hard enough to drive Five out of his mind. His elbows wrenched inward, but the sweater was thick, too thick even for him to rip, much less get his arms down far enough to protect his <em>fucking ribs, oh my God</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“F-fuck off!” he cried, feeling his legs give out as he sank to the floor, shaking with laughter. “Piece of—”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that?” he heard Klaus’ voice say. “Sorry, did you say something? You’ve got something on your head, I can’t hear you that well.”</p><p> </p><p>“Screw you!” Five spit between cackles, but the venom in his voice vanished as his brother’s scratches disappeared from his torso and reappeared instantly on his bent knees. He screeched, flipped, and in a stroke of luck or magic or whatever, worked the sweater up over his head and off in one violent yank. The tickling stopped abruptly, leaving him on the floor, panting for breath and squinting into the bright light of the changing room.</p><p> </p><p>Klaus was standing over him, looking like an eight-year-old on Christmas morning. “Yeah, that was the spot that always used to get you to break.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gonna kill you,” he gasped, thunking his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. “You’re dead, Hargreeves.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that so?” Klaus teased.</p><p> </p><p>“Yep.”</p><p> </p><p>“You hated that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh huh.”</p><p> </p><p>“With every fiber of your being.”</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p> </p><p>Klaus cocked his head. “Then why didn’t you teleport away?”</p><p> </p><p>Five blinked, once, twice. Opened his mouth. Thought better of it. Closed it. Glared.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just saying!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut the fuck <em>up!”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Sorry old man, but the facts are on my side,” Klaus said, grinning mischievously, but he reached out a hand to guide his brother to his feet anyway. Five was red-faced, but at this point he wasn’t sure whether it was the lack of oxygen that he was still recovering from or the realization that Klaus’ words might have hit a little too close to home.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, so <em>this</em> one sure doesn’t work,” Klaus sang, grabbing the maroon monstrosity from where it had crumpled on the floor, its deed done. “I’ll grab something in a bigger size.”</p><p> </p><p>Five let out a breath as the door clicked closed, collapsing back against the mirror. Absently, he let one hand drift to the side of his ribs, reveling in the lingering fizzy feeling that buzzed in his skin. A small, soft smile crept onto his face, and he wondered if maybe, if he played his cards right, he could convince Klaus to do that again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumblr: spritewrites</p></blockquote></div></div>
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